


Compromise and the Compromised

by MaryLouLeach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crime, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLouLeach/pseuds/MaryLouLeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious message from Lestrade, and a day later the DI is missing, it's a race against the clocks to find out the who and why. John and Sherlock discover NSY isn't as clean on the inside as it is on the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. TEXT MESSAGES AND PHONE CALLS

"Oh, what now. I'm off." Greg grumbled looking down at he text he received.

"Trouble?" Sherlock didn't even try to hide the hopefulness from his voice.

"No," Lestrade frowned." Just loose ends to another long day."

"Anything interesting? Sherlock straightened from his position near the window; his hands motionless, the tuning of his violin forgotten.

"No. It was a cut and dry case. Where was I? -oh yeah. You stay out of NSY, I'll give you call if we have anything for you. Till then don't come in and antagonize everyone."

"I was only pointing out a mistake in the evidence-"

"You called DI Rogers an imbecile, that should get his eyes checked. And I quote; _you wouldn't know a bank robber_ -"

"Yes, yes. I recall. I was only pointing out that there was clearly a link between the tellers at each of the banks. That even a child could see in the reports."

"Sherlock-" Greg frowned again, his phone buzzing, he sighed. "Just please do this for me. Stay out of the Yard. Especially now, just steer clear unless I call you."

"Dull. Why did you come all the way down to Baker street, couldn't you have called or text?" Sherlock growled returning to his violin, the menace of rain finally pushed through the gray clouds that had hovered over London all day, adding to Sherlock's morose mood.

"Yes, I suppose I'm easier to ignore that way." Lestrade shook his head seeing Sherlock nod in agreement. "Where's John?" Greg asked looking around "Doesn't he have tonight off?"

"No, he was called in. Why he would want to waste his time at such a dreary, conventional place where such idiots run around like chickens whose heads have been cut off, and his skill and knowledge are highly under appreciated? It's all just beyond me."

" Sounds about right, it's called a _Job_ Sherlock. And besides what would you have him do? Sit here and listen to how _BORED_ you are?" Sherlock replied in a humph,

"Why do you need John? Perhaps I could-"

"Oh, no. Its not business related I was going to ask if he wanted to catch a pint at the pub, he's always a good shoulder to cry on after a long day. But it seems I have to run back to work. So I'll leave you with your music and thoughts. I promise to call if I have anything." He started to turn reading another text, "Actually, I may just need your expert eye on something, but it's a little off the record. I'm not certain anyway if it's anything. Will you and John be here later tonight?"

"Don't placate me Lestrade. I am not a child that you can say _maybe if you are patient and good, and not cause explosions in the kitchen today; nanny will give you a treat._ " Sherlock waved Lestrade off dismissively, ignoring the mans laughter all the way down the stairs disappearing somewhere in the rain. Sherlock absentmindedly acknowledged the DI didn't have an umbrella, he would soak through within minutes, serves him right.

Greg sighed irritably, sending a text to the impatient Sergeant Donovan.

**_I'm here what did you and Anderson find so important?-G_ **

Lestrade shook his head he'd taken a cab to the crime scene, two uniforms in rain slickers still securing the tapped off area.

"Sir." One of them nodded.

"You're still here? It's a bit late." He pulled his coat around him, still not helping with the rain. "Oh, where are Smith and Howard?" Lestrade didn't recognize the two uniformed men.

"We were told to stay on scene, seems the Sergeant has something originally missed and we are waiting on the scene to be released." Greg frowned, maybe these two were new he hadn't seen them before.

"Well I'll try and hurry it up so you two boys and get out of the rain and home to your families." He stepped over the yellow tape, "Sally!" he called out, thankfully the crime in question was committed under a tunnel bridge, shielding him further from the rain. Although it was in a rather rough neighborhood, Lestrade caught sight of a black car newer with tinted black windows, parked over at the end of the tunnel. Who the hell would park that nice of a car in this neighborhood and that aside what was it doing on the unreleased crime scene? He swore at himself for not carrying a torch and the battery powered lamps they used to keep the scene lit, due to the lack of light under the tunnel bridge, the lamps were flickering reaching the end of their short power limit.

Why Sergeant Donovan, would have him come down here again was a mystery. Open shut case, they cleared it in a day, a kid was stabbed by his friend over drugs. The victim's friend, a boy of 18 confessed almost immediately after being questioned. Something caused Lestrade to pause his phone buzzed, he read the text just when the tunnel lit up, and the sound of a running engine echoed. He put his hand over his eyes, moving back, the uniforms where still behind him, so shouted over his shoulder. Receiving no answer to his call, Lestrade felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, instinct born of years as a DI warned him something was wrong, very wrong and it was best to turn around.

Something caught his eye, in the corner just hidden in shadow two forms slumped next to each other, he started towards them the cars engine still going, but no one was getting out. "This is a police secured scene!" he growled "How about you turn the lights off-" he stood now in front of the two slumped figures, he caught his breath feeling suddenly sick.

Two uniformed police men, the one on the left had blood staining the middle of his uniform, PC Howard, a man who always teased Lestrade on his love for cappuccino's instead of the black tar they called coffee at the office. That same man was slumped over a bullet hole in the center of his chest already having run dry of any blood the now stilled heart would pump no more. The other officer, Smith, new by about three months, the middle of his forehead marked red from a bullet, Lestrade could only guess what the exit wound at the back of the young man's head looked like. Dead for a few hours he guessed, he made a dash for the two PC's outside, halting suddenly, were they even officers?

"Come on Detective, we need to chat." Someone had opened the black cars door, the sound of it shutting echoed through the tunnel. Lestrade looked at the text message from Sally again.

**?-SD**

Lestrade figured he had a few minutes to live,

"Come now Greg, don't act like this. We're mates. Lets have that chat." Greg's eyes widened he recognized that voice, a mixture of fear and anger hit him like a wave.

"I have nothing to talk to you about. And you have nothing I want to hear."

"Don't I? You should have taken the money Greg, you would be a richer man. Instead you will be a dead one. Now don't make this hard. We have a few questions and then we'll let you go for a swim, after we shoot you."

"Fuck off." Lestrade moved back his feet clumsy on the slippery cement of the dark tunnel. He definitely only had a minute to live, enough time to get out a text to Sally to warn her-

"No none of that copper." One of the phony PC's grabbed his wrist in a tight grip. Wrenching his arm painfully behind him putting him on his knees and Greg dropped his mobile. "The boss wants a chat." The other man pushed him forward, causing him to land on his face. That'll leave a mark, he thought irritably. He pulled himself back up, swinging connecting with the bigger mans jaw, surprising the thug enough to give Greg room to dart for an opening but the other fake PC sent a hard elbow to the DI's gut before he could go far, bastard had been hiding in the shadows.

"Lets go somewhere more private. Get him in the trunk."

"Any way I can call my wife? Let her know I wont be making it home for dinner." Lestrade coughed. "You know how she worries, for old times sake?" He was going to disappear and his body would be found washed up near the river, or some dark alley. That's how these men did business; he after all had investigated some of their more recent handy work. The two thugs holding his arms looked up at their boss.

"Sure, seeing how I'm not completely heartless, and your wife always had such a nice rack, but no funny business make it quick." A snap of the man's fingers and Lestrade had his phone thrust in front of him. He received a text and thinking it was Sally he hit call.

"I sent you a text so we wouldn't have to talk, you defeat the-"Sherlock's irritable tirade was cut short.

"Honey." Greg tried to keep his voice even, "I wont be home in time for dinner. Go ahead without me. Just remember to be polite."

"Lestrade are you drunk?" Sherlock thought this a joke and a poor attempt at that, but something in the edge he caught in the DI's voice kept Sherlock from hanging up. Something wasn't right, Lestrade had been long separated from his wife, he lived alone. This was something else, definitely not good. Sherlock was listening now, straining to absorb everything all back ground noses, the clearing of a man's voice off to the side. An echo, the sound of rain dripping, he was in a tunnel. All right but where?

"Oh, yeah the extra set of keys are in my desk yes well I can't really talk sweetie. Just get the keys and go ahead drive the new car. Yes, I wanted to have dinner by the river as well. It is a popular spot after all." He caught his executioner's dark glare a signal to make it short. Damn his luck the last person he was going to talk to was Sherlock; well at least he'd figure it out. He always did, Lestrade just hoped it was in time to save Sally and Anderson along with the others on his team. He swallowed, clasping his eyes shut.

"Lestrade you're in trouble where are you?" Sherlock kept his voice low. "Tell me something about them-"

"I have to go now honey. Tell little Molly I'll be seeing her soon. Don't worry I'm just going out with some of the guys from the Yard. Tell Johnny not to forget to keep an eye on the dogs keep them close. You know how irritable they get. Don't wait up, we'll be out late. Goodbye." Lestrade couldn't think of anything else as a heavy blunt object, one of the PC's torches most likely struck him hard at the base of his skull where the head meets neck.

Sherlock frowned now starring at the mobile in his hands, the line went dead, usually in such a circumstance he'd call Lestrade with the cryptic message but it was Lestrade that needed help. He didn't believe he would make it, especially if mentioned seeing Molly soon. Sherlock groaned, "Dammit Lestrade, you would make me do this." He dialed a number that he'd locked somewhere in his mind palace under a file that held very little information worth memorizing.

"Sergeant Donovan." the female's prickly voice answered. Nails on chalkboard to his sensitive ears, Sherlock took a deep breath and tried to remain civil.


	2. QUESTIONS UNANSWERED

"Now Greg you know how this goes. I ask you a question and you answer it. And if you refuse, or I think you're lying or hell, if I just want to, I'll have the boys here use you as a punching bag. I should warn you, they aren't really friendly towards cops, well I guess they are ok with me but you know.I'm easy to get along with. So lets begin, shall we?"

"Go to hell!" came an angry growl from an already bruised DI, tied to a chair, Lestrade pulled at his bindings.

"Always the stubborn one huh Gregory. Never too bright, not to bright at all. Well we have till morning so go on Tank have at it. Do try to keep the jaw intact just till the interrogation is over." The smug man in a dark coat nodded to one of the bigger thugs, Tank indeed, the bigger mans shadow engulfed Lestrade he looked p squinting with his one good eye,

"Well hello there ugly."

Lestrade braced himself for the first hard knuckle catching him just above his left eye, but it still did nothing to take the edge off the pain. His thoughts were drifting as dark pin pricks clouded his blurring vision, he wondered what they would say about his body. Imagining Sherlock frowning, tilting his dark head to the side, curiously examining the bruises around his eyes and jaw;

"I'd say right handed, both men." And John would nod, his eyes bright turning to the detective in awe. "Yes, truly amazing." No, Greg thought, before darkness completely consumed him, John wouldn't be so impersonal. Sherlock was a different story, he would no doubt find it all interesting. Well Sherlock here's your new case, I hope its appealing enough for you to take it.

Sherlock's last words to him echoed in his ears, had it sounded like concern, no. It couldn't be concern; Sherlock didn't feel that way about him, he was just another minder, still; _"Lestrade you're in trouble where are you? Tell me something about them-"_

**221B Baker Street**

"He's not answering." Sally fumed, she started to pace the small cluttered apartment, "What did he say exactly? Word for word?"

"I've already told you three times and I do not wish to repeat myself. Now think where would he be going?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the Sergeant; she crossed her arms over her chest.

"And I've told you I don't know. How do I know this isn't some joke you're playing at! God help me freak if you are-"

"Yes, I love to spend my time in your company. So I would fabricate a story just to get you here-." Sherlock paused "Wait, read his last text to me, the one he sent you."

"It doesn't make sense, all it says is 'I'm here what did you and Anderson find so important?-G' And like I said before, it doesn't make any sense at all. I have no idea what he was getting on about. That's why I sent him a question mark. He never replied. So I figured he didn't mean to send it, or-"

"You just wouldn't be bothered not wishing your time with Anderson to be cut short? Really Sergeant, a text? How professional. You should have called him, instead of taking a roll in the back seat of a compact, with that weasel Anderson, of all people." Sherlock waved her off, frustrated and disgust. "This is getting us no where! Lestrade could be injured or worse somewhere, don't you have any other way to find him? Don't you people check in or radio each other?" When he received no reply just a narrowed glare from the frizzy haired Sergeant, Sherlock had to turn his back on her or he'd throw something in frustration.

"I don't have to take this! I'm heading down to the Yard. I'm sending a PC out to his house if he isn't there then I'm calling it in. God help him if he's drunk. And you stay out of this!" she growled Sherlock wasn't listening, his brow creased and hands under his chin, eyes closed.

"That's it!" he was on his feet, "The crime scene today, where was it?"

"What's this about?" exasperated, Sally wasn't liking the direction this whole thing was going, she'd only come down to Baker Street because she couldn't reach DI Lestrade, his text had been odd. And when the freak called she half expected him to confess to killing the poor DI. His voice sounded urgent and there was something else she hadn't heard from him before, worry. And if the freak was concerned than instinct told her she should be as well, no matter how she fought it, she **_was_** worried and it angered her.

"Where? If he sent you a text saying **_'I'm here what did you and Anderson find so important?'_** its likely he returned to the case you solved today."

"Why would he go there? It was open shut, the murderer confessed within an hour of being picked up for questioning. Third one this month, good fortune really."

"Where!?" Sherlock snapped. The dark haired Sergeant threw her hands up in exasperation.

"It was the old square park-" She watched Sherlock's face lose color, and his voice changed she'd never heard that tone before, a desperate urgency. Not the usual twisted excitement and curiosity.

"Was the crime under a bridge?"

"Yeah, s'right. But like I said-hey where you going?" Sherlock already had slipped his coat on and with a determined look on his thin face he was halfway to the door.

"Call the Yard Sergeant, you might want to get your boyfriend out of bed." he replied irritably.

"What!? Sherlock! Where are you going?" She yelled down the stairs, trying to keep up with him.

"Old Square Park. Weren't you listening? Really how someone of your low intelligence ever made Sergeant just baffles me."

"Sherlock?" John yawned shivering against the cold night air. "Sergeant Donovan? It's a little late? What's going on?" John had been about to open the door when it was flung open and his flatmate followed by the most unlikely visitor darted out from the building, he felt a lost for words. Both looked very vexed and he was about to ask another stupid question no doubt but Sherlock cut him off as he waved down a cab.

"Get in the cab John, I'll explain on the way." Sergeant Donovan swore under her breath and slid into the cab beside the Doctor.

"I'm going too, just to prove you wrong. Then I'll have you put away for making a nuisance of yourself, it's illegal to use up police time reporting a false crime." Sally attempted to sound unmoved but she wasn't quiet sure anymore, the best place was to keep the mad consulting detective within her sights, wasn't that what Lestrade would say.

" _I Just move out of the way so I don't get trampled, and pray to god I can at least keep up. He's got good instincts and frightfully brilliant. Sally I'll take a solved crime over manners any day."_ Sally shook her head not wishing to think the worst right now; DI Lestrade probably got pissed and is passed out on his couch.

John sighed heavily, just what he wanted, to be in a cramped back seat of a cab next to two hissing vipers. "Will someone please tell me why we are in a cab in freezing weather headed to a not so safe part of town in the middle of the damn night!?" he finally snapped.

Sally ignored the question, still trying to work out her own problems with the psychopath's story. Attempting to convince herself, her boss was indeed passed out on his couch in front of the telly. _If that were true and you really believed that. Than why are you keeping after the psychopath?_ She glared out the window listening again to Sherlock's account of the cryptic message the DI sent. Why had he called Sherlock and not her? She was his second in command after all. If he were in trouble, she'd of been on to it right away, maybe. Or maybe she wouldn't have answered, still he had called the freak first.

The DI seemed a little strained lately; he'd been avoiding Anderson and her for the past couple of weeks. Why was a mystery, unless he couldn't pretend not to know what his two officers where getting up to anymore. No it was something else, Sally thought it was personal so she didn't inquire, after all his wife had been gone for almost a year and she just found out a week or two ago. He liked to keep his home life private, and she could care less, he stayed out of her business and she out of his. But still, the way he was acting was a bit off, their department was on a roll solving several cases in the last month, gaining a confession almost immediately from the suspected assailant. He should be more thankful to his team, but he hadn't taken them out for drinks in a month, and they always celebrated after a closed case.

"John do keep up. DI Lestrade seems to have been kidnapped or worse."

"What? When? By who?" John felt sick, the Greg was a pretty easy going man, a fair one, someone that John thought of as a friend. Decent men, were hard to find, decent and honorable and that was Greg Lestrade. No, that _is_ Greg Lestrade, he corrected himself.


	3. CRIME SCENE DEDUCTIONS

After a rather long uncomfortable car ride, a quick account of recent events which end with Donovan and Sherlock trading verbal barbs, of course at a mature adult level, where Donovan called Sherlock a freak and Sherlock countered with a long line of rather cruel but accurate, no less, observations based on the state of the women's wardrobe. Such words used made even John a seasoned soldier blush. "Children!" John finally growled stepping outside the cab, happy to be free of the toxic atmosphere.

Sherlock didn't wait he dashed towards the crime scene, the yellow tape still visible, and the lamps were dimming and flickering, "Why are those still here?" Sally knew she'd given the order for clean up, that was expensive equipment. She kept up with the detectives long strides, an impressive action in black heels.

John as usual paid the cab and asked the nervous man to stick around, informing him they were on official police business. Reluctantly the older man agreed, John always felt uneasy talking to cabbies after the Hope case.

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted, John hurried towards the sound; his hand going to his waist pocket, dammit didn't bring the browning. The tone of Sherlock's voice sent a chill through the ex-soldier, images of an injured Lestrade, or worse a dead one started streaming through his head. John pushed it back before the idea could take hold, he needed to be here, and ready to supply aid, and the Doctor in him was the one to surge forward.

"Sherlock what is it?" Doctor Watson held his breath halting behind the crouching detective. Their breath visible in the cold air, like wisps of smoke, the lights of the lamps still flickering. Donovan was on her phone now, her voice shaking but still ringing with authority.

"Jesus-" John's voice held an edge of fear, and disbelief, expecting to see Greg there, but instead the two bodies were slumped over shoulder to shoulder, regular uniformed PCs. No wisps of smoke danced from their nostrils or closed mouths. His heart sank even more, when he recognized one as PC Howard, always a smile on his face no matter what the mood of the detectives on scene were in.

Sometimes John would stand off to the side as Sherlock and Lestrade went head to head, Howard always offered a bet on who would win. John recalled the man talking about his family, a wife and two daughters. The other PC he couldn't quiet place, was he new? John felt guilty for not knowing for certain. He took in the evidence before him, pushing his guilt away, allowing the doctor in him to pull in and take note of the facts, he could at least find those responsible for this terrible crime. In war, one could blame a faceless enemy for killing a fellow soldier, but this, this was civilian life, this was the UK not a war zone, the rules were different, laws were to be followed and senseless killing was to be punished.

"Shot in the back!" John swore, "Cowards." As for Smith, he'd been executed the burn marks there on his head from where the weapon had been pressed.

"We need more light!" Sherlock stood up now, he took his mobile out using it as a torch, John followed him needing to distance himself from the two dead men.

"Sherlock? You don't think Lestrade is-"

"I couldn't say John, but he was a smart man, well slightly smarter than the idiots he worked with. He would have left something, some kind of clue- THERE!" he pointed moving towards the middle of the tunnel, he could see muddy foot prints, judging by the size they were Lestrade's, he'd started steadily towards the middle of the tunnel then halted, hesitating he started to move back even turned to go, but something made him pause, his muddy foot prints moving towards the dead bodies. He hadn't seen them when he first arrived, how could he, it was dim he was there to meet someone but who?

He could see muddy foot prints, not the dead men, Howard, father of two, a PC for three years, twenty eight years old, 5'8 average build. Had a proclivity to laugh and place bets. Came from a big family raised by just a mother, father walked out-Sherlock pushed these deductions away, it wasn't relevant. He needed to find Lestrade and in the process he'd find the murderers of the two men. Smith a rookie, stared at Sherlock in awe, but always stuttered when Sherlock ordered him to move out of the way _"I was invited."_

 _"S-ssorry_ _sir Mr. Holmes sir, but Sergeant Donovan said not to let anyone through especially-"_

 _"We'll I'm not anyone."_ And he'd move right past the young man, fresh out of the academy just 22 years old, played football in uni but wasn't much of a competitor, liked to enjoy the game not be pressured into winning. Always drank his coffee black, dating a girl still in Uni-only child- _Stop_.

Sherlock shook his head and like a movie the day's events started to play out before him. The two officers had been standing out by the yellow tape, waiting for the last of the detectives and PC's off duty to clear the scene, first Smith moved to collect the lanterns to the left of the tunnel, separating from Howard. He heard the shot, Howard first, he was the older and more experienced officer made sense, but who would know that certainly not by looking at him, both men looked remarkably around the same age. Clean-shaven, similar uniforms.

Why? Howard hadn't expected the attack, he was kneeling down to disconnect the battery operated lamp when a large man, weight on the right side more than the left, right handed put a gun to the unsuspecting PC's turnd back, and fired straight into his heart. Blood splattered onto the lamp just there, Sherlock kneeled, and the large light was shot out, and shattered by the weight of the dead man and the bullet most likely lodge inside.

PC Howard, no, Sherlock correct himself, the _**BODY**_ , was then drug to the wall, there. He looked on, then back at the distinctive shoe prints of Smith, halting right in front of his friend. The damned rookie had run towards the sound of gunfire probably calling out to his partner. Nearing the far corner he would have found his friend. Someone stood behind him, easy to sneak up on a rookie more distressed by his unmoving partner. So the unknown attack ordered the rookie to turn, the young PC froze he did so, told to get on his knees, also complied.

Sherlock knew the type, most likely the young officer had started to say something to reason with his executioner, but never finished as the bullet fired and entered the young man of 22, into the forehead traveling through the soft gray matter of the brain and exploding out of the back of the skull, Sherlock took note of the blood splatter on the wall, some gray matter and bits of bone dirtied the other dead PC's uniform.

Some time passed, because when Greg arrived his shoes were muddied, and his coat wet from the rain. Something made him pause he walked over to the bodies, turned to run again halted but why? Two men surprised him, the same that surprised the PC's obviously. They were waiting? Perhaps, but Sherlock needed more information to confirm this theory.

Lestrade's foot prints halted in the middle of the tunnel, he'd tried to run he'd caught wind of the trap, but too late he pulled his mobile out to call Sherlock at this point, Sherlock had sent him a text seconds before, _"John is working late."_ But one of the men stopped this action, wrenching the DI's arm back, by the drag marks on the cement Sherlock knew this to be the more likely action. Then why did they let him make a call, something was off, pieces not connecting.

He moved up the tunnel his phone still bright, unaware of John right behind him. More foot prints, drag marks, and there, at the end of the tunnel, a car had parked. A car peeling out, "They threw him in the trunk, he was alive." Sherlock couldn't see any blood splatter well anything worth note, he knew under such circumstances the abductors slash murderers would have had to knock the DI out and the type from the bodies they already left behind, were cold career thugs. Sherlock deduced they would have pummeled the DI and even kicked him before tossing his limp body into the back of the mystery cars trunk.

Sherlock couldn't place the flash of emotion that surged forward visualizing this scenario. He shoved his fisted hands into his coat pocket, shaking from the cold, yes it was indeed cold.

"He's alive then." John muttered if he were convincing himself that this was ok, that Lestrade was in fact still alive.

"He was alive at this point, but who knows where they took him the water washes away any other tire marks out of the tunnel."

"I don't care who you have to wake up! Get them down here now! And for gods sakes bring more lamps!" Sherlock approached the hotheaded Sergeant she hung up on whomever was on the other line.

"The DI's house was broken into, maybe he was taken from there, and the house was ransacked nothing stolen but-"

"No, they were looking for something. He came here, he thought he was meeting you."

"How do you even know that!?" Sally was at her breaking point.

"His message! Do you still think it a coincidence that his house was broken into? His address is protected it's not made public. So someone who knows him would have to-" her eyes narrowed on Sherlock "Oh, come on Sergeant now is not the time to point fingers! DI Lestrade wasn't going home tonight. His message when he called, _**'I won't be home for dinner'**_ that means he's not going home. It's the other parts I'm trying to figure out, I know why he said **_'tell little Molly I'll be seeing her soon.'_ ** He obviously knew-thought, he thought he was going to die." Sherlock could hear the tone; it was different from his usual warm gritty pitch. No he'd given up, resolved himself to the enviable.

"Have Anderson pull the bullets in the lamp and the wall, see if the match anything." Then to his pale flatmate "Come along John!" walking toward the cab, already several police cars were showing up. Good, perhaps they wouldn't be so slow to process the evidence, "Mobile phone." He grumbled to himself, "Sally I need his mobile phone."

"Where are you going?" she started towards him,

"To his house!"

"But you said he wasn't there!"

"Yes, but obviously someone was looking for something. His mobile call me straight away if you find it." Donovan was distracted now by her team arriving on scene.

"I don't think they'll find it Sherlock would career killers leave evidence behind like that?"

"No, they wouldn't John. But it will keep Anderson and Donovan out of our hair."

"What?"

"The last piece of Lestrade's message, as much as I hate to oblige it was a plea, a request from the DI _.; **Go ahead without me. Just remember to be polite.**_ He wants us to investigate; he had alluded to coming back over tonight to ask for my expert opinion on something. But then he said he wasn't sure if it was anything just yet. He also said earlier on, before he received the text messages that he wanted me to stay out of the Yard _especially_ now. He was on to something, but what? "

 **" _Just be polite_ ,** that was definitely a message to you. What about the rest _; **the extra set of keys are in my desk.. Just get the keys and go ahead drive the**_

 ** _new car. I wanted to have dinner by the river as well. It is a popular spot after all_ -. _Tell little Molly I'll be seeing_ her soon. _Don't worry I'm just going out with_ _some of the guys from the Yard. Tell Johnny not to forget to keep an eye on the dogs keep them close. You know how irritable they get. Don't wait up, we'll be out late._** Then the goodbye _._ It's clear he thought he was going to die. But what dogs, and what keys? He doesn't own a car does he?" John felt a headache brought on by exhaustion and worry, he rubbed his temples.

"No John you're not listening, he told us who his abductors are. And he excluded two people in which he wanted us to be sure were kept out of this and safe."

"Dogs, sniffer dogs." John held back an inappropriate chuckle "Anderson and Donovan? Wait, Sherlock you're not saying-?"

"I know Lestrade was picked up by colleagues, he was telling me. But they wont be close friends, he said _s **ome of the guys**_ , they clearly didn't know him well enough to know he was going through a divorce, because they suspected nothing when he called me. That's all I managed to piece together. We need to get to his house and find out more."

"Sherlock, we _**will**_ find him." Sherlock inside the cab now stared out the window ignoring the comment completely. Something in him refused to think any further than the task at hand. Lestrade wherever he was had placed his faith in Sherlock once more, he wanted him to figure it out. The DI didn't expect to live, possibly through the night. This fact is what made the consulting detective lean over to the cabbie window.

"If you pick up the pace I'll double the fee." His phone buzzed he swore under his breath.

_The cameras in that area caught the car leaving but not at a good enough angle for a license plate and the windows were tinted. I'll send the footage the car is seen turning left. And from there the car is lost in traffic.-MH_


	4. THE ACCUSER AND THE ACCUSED

John and Sherlock walked through the mess of papers, the upturned furniture, two uniforms outside seemed reluctant to let them in, but some quick talking and a phone call to Sargent Donovan and they were allowed entry. The doctor noted how the two men eyed them with open hostility and distrust.

John swore under his breath moving to turn over the couches, "Bastards." He took note of the pillow and blankets; did Lestrade sleep on the couches regularly?

The burglars had broken pictures that hung on the walls, Lestrade's home was simple, very obvious that a woman once lived there. The curtains white lace, a flower pot of daisies watered everyday, Sherlock deduced, flowers his wife grew some sentimental compulsion kept Lestrade watering them. Probably a link between the two, if the flowers died then so did their love. Sherlock rolled his eyes; having never met the woman he instantly didn't like her from deductions he'd made over the years.

Greg Lestrade was smarter than the imbeciles in his employ not by much but still a bit smarter, he saved his money, he hardly drank, a hard worker and Sherlock once heard Molly say that the DI was handsome. Therefore in conclusion any woman that could not see what a good catch the DI was, and committed adultery on such a man of honor, well that woman was an idiot unworthy of knowing the DI. Let alone share a living space with him.

John and Sherlock had yet to step foot inside the DI's house, they knew the address, sure Sherlock had hacked that information years ago, stored it in his mind palace and it finally was useful.

"Do you gentleman need any help?" Sherlock and John turned to see two uniformed PCs. "Sergeant Donovan sent us." The shorter of the two stated professionally.

"Ah, to watch us. Make sure we don't nick anything of value." Sherlock growled irritably.

The younger officer looked a little shame faced. John rolled his eyes, really Donovan?

"Seems Wilson with forensics will be down shortly, he's going to fingerprint, so its best not to disturb anything, you know the forensics guys a touchy bunch." Trying to be polite about the situation, nice try. John thought annoyed.

"Must be an occupational requirement." John mumbled. "Well anyway, we are in this together then. John Watson and Mister Sherlock Holmes." Both younger men looked at the thin detective with a sort of star struck awe.

"I told you." The taller PC removed his hat, his ginger hair cut short to his head. "Didn't I tell you." he nudged his friend with a sharp elbow, his eyes still on the curly haired detective who ignored their presence completely.

"Fine, the pint might be on me, but I'm not going to that old washed out Irish pub you like so much. We'll go somewhere proper." The dark haired PC stated turning his head trying not to be heard.

"Gentleman if you're quiet through, my colleague and I will be looking around, try not to- as you say _disturb_ anything." Sherlock was already turning his back on the two men.

John had a flash of the young PC Smith and Howard, both were too young to die in such a way. These two young men were just around the same age themselves, the least John could do was learn their names, they nervously eyed Sherlock who shot off towards Lestrade's office area. John knew his role, and he'd stay out of the way and playing it well.

"So boys, what are your names now?"

"Will you mention us in your blog?" the ginger haired PC asked excitedly, the other man just looked embarrassed removing his hat.

"Excuse my partner Doctor Watson, the names Frank Clarke, and this idiot is Henry Patterson." They both shook the doctor's hand.

"Well sir, seeing how you know what you're doing Patterson and I will make ourselves scarce, just holler if you need a hand." John could tell that he would like Clarkson and Patterson they knew how to play the game. So he wasn't stuck distracting the two while Sherlock searched for god knows what.

"Anything?"

"No, checking his desk would be too obvious a place although, it seems someone already went through it. That would be too easy, we are missing something I'm sure."

Then a loud bang, a gunshot, towards the front of the house, making both men to flinch.

"Henry!" Clarke yelled out, John heard the furry in the younger man's voice, he knew it, the anger that fueled the adrenaline propelling a soldier forward when everything in him screamed to go back. That's when the second shot was heard, another crash sounded like a struggle. Sherlock checked the closet in the hall, quietly opening the door. John didn't know what he was looking for until he produced a 9mm from one of Lestrade nicer jackets. John wasn't going to ask how Sherlock knew where to look. Instead he watched his friend check the slide seeing it was full handed it to John, silently their eyes met.

Sherlock allowed John to go in front of him, instantly the transformation from ordinary doctor to soldier, apparent in all his friend's movements. This never ceased to amaze Sherlock, John was quiet and moved low, he could see the cool mask of calm on John's face, gone was the warmth and easy going man that most found familiar.

John could see the downed red haired officer, he wasn't moving, Clarke was a different story, Clarke definitely at a disadvantage in height and weight, threw himself at the unknown assailant dressed in all black, the dark haired PC had managed to disarm the bigger man, he threw his elbow up into the mans jaw, side stepping a blow meant for his ribs. John couldn't take the risk of hitting Clarke.

"Freeze!" John shouted in his booming Captains voice, both men looked up. Then Clarke felt it the knife at his throat, dammit how did he miss that?

"Throw it down Doctor."

"No!" Clarke growled, "Shoot him!"

"Do it Doctor and you might just hit little soldier boy here. Do us a favor."

"I know what you're looking for!" Sherlock growled from the hall.

"Do you now?" the other man nervously looked around. "Alright I'll trade you. His life for the photographs. And don't try to be clever detective. I'll know what phonies look like."

"Where's Greg!?" Sherlock demanded, John realized that was the first time he'd heard Sherlock call Lestrade Greg. The man in black laughed,

"Oh, he's been chatting with the boss. He said he hadn't said anything to his favorite little sniffer dogs but I see he lied. The boss will find this interesting. " Sherlock clasped his eyes shut, so Lestrade was alive.

"Shoot him John." Sherlock directed coolly, "Thanks for the information idiot." And John locked eyes with Clarke whose nostrils flared he panted from the struggle, a gash on his cheek and John without further hesitation exhaled and fired hitting the man in black directly in the shoulder right above the shorter Clarke. The force and shock caused the taller man to drop his knife and fall back. John kept his weapon trained on the would be assassin.

"John!" Sherlock called out, "This officer needs medical attention. I'll watch him." John nodded moving to hand the gun to Sherlock instead the consulting detective sent a hard kick to the side of the mans head, causing him to go lax, Sherlock then took the handcuffs he'd found on the floor of Greg's living room and having no care for the bleeding shoulder he cuffed the mans hands behind his back, no mercy for a cop killer.

John smiled "That'll work." Then went to the downed young officer, "Looks like the coward hit him from behind." John frowned the side of the kids head had a pretty good gash, "He'll have one hell of a headache. He's lucky." John exhaled, "He wasn't shot." Clarke had a look of relief,

"Well just a hit to the head, we'll that wont damage much. I just heard a gun go off and saw him fall. I thought-" Clarke caught his breath.

"The gun probably went off when he was struck by it.  Where's the other two PCs?" John looked around.

Clarke frowned, "They were relived as soon as we showed up. Odd seeing those two at a B&E."

"Why's that?" Sherlock had called Sally but no answer; the younger PC took a deep breath,

"My radio was smashed in the fight could you call the police? And an Ambulance." John returned with a cool rag, and some ice. "One minute we were heading to the front of the house so to be out of the way I thought I heard something from the kitchen, Henry was chatting like an idiot and I moved to find the back door open, when we first arrived there were no open doors or windows, at least that's what the uniforms outside told us. That's when I realized Henry wasn't talking, and he always is talking. I moved to see him on the floor and that guy with a gun aimed at him. He was going to shoot him, while he was down, in the back. " There was the anger again, " I shouted Henry's name, I startled that bastard I thought he'd killed Henry, then he aimed at me, I ran for him and he missed.

"You did good. A little crazy and dangerous that-but good." John put a hand on Clarke's shoulder.

"I knew you two were in the back of the house I hoped you'd hear the commotion and at least help out. I just needed to buy time. Besides this idiot and I have been stuck at the hip since I got out of the academy. Oh, by the way, nice shot sir." The younger man shakily offered his hand. "damn nice shot." John reluctantly took it.

"Yes Yes, John is an excellent shot, better than most soldiers I hear. And damn better than any doctor I've ever met. That aside, what did you mean by seeing those two PC's as unusual? Quickly." Clarke snapped to attention, keeping his the cold rag and ice against the back of his friends head, the doctor had turned the unconscious officer over gently to check for any other injuries.

"Sorry sir. Those two arrogant twats, excuse my language don't usually work B&E, even though it is DI Lestrade's house they should not have been sent here. They work on day shift for the organized crime unit." Sherlock frowned his mind started turning.

"Do you recognize that man over there?" Sherlock asked.

"No, never seen him in my life, the bastard." Clarke shot murderous daggers at the other man. The sound of nearing sirens, Sherlock stood now "John we should go. We need to speak to Sally and find out what Anderson found on those bullets. Oh, Clarke is it?"

"Yes sir. Best not to mention the gun."

"Yes sir, it seems during the struggle he was shot, I don't know where the gun has gone too, it's not like they aren't used to evidence disappearing." Sherlock froze in his tracks.

"What was that?"

"Sorry that was inappropriate of me to say or even joke about-I just meant-"

"No, you said it was a common thing. Explain." Clarke sighed he hated being a snitch but he and Henry had been stuck working the evidence room, they'd barely put them on patrol gave two other lackeys the job. But before they were promoted out of the purgatory of the evidence lockers he'd noticed several items were not where they should be and there was no check out on the logs. So when he brought it to the captain's attention he said he'd look into it.

"What was missing?"

"Well the most noticeable was a double edge hunting knife, another was a gun, a 9mm with a silencer and hair pin trigger. Other things but mostly misplaced jewelry or even money."

"Do you know the cases the weapons were evidence in?"

"Yes sir, that's how I noticed they were missing, they were weapons used in two different murders. But when the case was closed due to signed uncontested confessions no one seemed to care about the misplaced items."

"Who would have access to such things?"

"What the hell happened here?" DI Dimmock looked around the mess, he'd never been in DI Lestrade's residence, the place was torn apart, "Oh great why am I not surprised" Sherlock and John stood up recognizing the DI from prior cases. His men started moving over the area, medics were taking Henry off , Clarke tried to follow only halted to give a report. John could feel his pain as he watched his friend loaded into the ambulance.

"DI we were just leaving." Sherlock gave a false smile used for situations where social etiquette called for a smile. This not being the time, Sherlock just came off irritating and smug.

"Yes. I can see that. Now leave the real police work up to the professionals" he growled. Then under his breath, "Don't you have a DI to find?" Sherlock caught how Dimmock shot a nervous look over his shoulder, there were two older looking detectives entering the scene, declaring it their case now. John and Sherlock ducked out before the suits, obviously some higher ups, could question them.

Standing out on the street Sherlock started at a quick pace. "We are looking for pictures. But of what?" His phone rang now, Sherlock didn't recognize the number, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Sir, its Clarke." The man sounded like he was at a whisper, "DI Dimmock gave me this number to call."

"Well spit it out then." Sherlock impatient as ever.

"Overheard the big wigs, seems DI Lestrade's been reported missing and the police have two suspects."

"Oh, how very predictable, well it's not like John and I have ever not been suspects-"

"Not you sir, they 're sending uniforms to collect Sergeant Donovan and forensics officer Anderson."


	5. INTERROGATION

"This is ridiculous!" Sergeant Donovan growled pulling her arm from the uniformed PC that she viewed as beneath her. "I'm in the middle of an investigation-"

"Yes, ma'am I understand. But we are to bring you in."

"For what?"

"Orders ma'am, comes from the commissioner. He said that we are to use the cuffs if you don't comply."

"He what? Is this a joke!?" Donovan couldn't believe her ears, but the sound of Anderson's nasally objections made it that much more real, the situation was worse.

"Get your hands off of me! I outrank you!" the forensics officer snapped.

"Oh, Lestrade where the hell are you?" Sally muttered allowing herself to be pulled off the scene and directed to a car, several of their team was standing now, watching mouths agape. This would surely hit the yard before she even reached the interrogation rooms.

" Back to work! You still have a job to do!" And just as quickly her subordinates were back to their appointed tasks. It didn't escape Sergeant Donovan that the PC's put her and Anderson in separate cars. Her phone buzzed and her eyes narrowed, the freak, maybe he found something, he better have.

"Sorry ma'am its procedure." The PC took the mobile out of her hands and slammed the black and whites door. Sally Donovan Sergeant under DI Lestrade, straightened her shoulders, and refused to give in to her humiliation and fear. This was all a big mix up, someone was going to pay. After the short ride to the Yard, Donovan had enough time to go from concern, to anger, irritation and back to concern. Her one small thanks was not being handcuffed. That would have been the icing on the cake, at least the damned freak wouldn't see her like this.

"Detective Donovan!" Came the voice of the devil himself.

"What the hell are you two doing here." She growled,

"Come along Sergeant." The PC uncomfortably started directing her towards the entrance.

"Sherlock this is bad." John watched as Anderson shot them daggers over his shoulder.

"We have to get inside, I need to check Lestrade's desk."

"What? Are you insane that's NSY they aren't going to just let us walk in the back door. And what are we going to do about those two. Obviously its all been a set up."

"Evidently yes. And don't worry John as long as they are both in custody they are in fact safe. Can't be shot here in their own back yard, no pun intended. But as long as the two are detained for the next 24 hours then dirty cops or not they wont be touchable."

"Did you plan this?" Sherlock sighed.

"Oh John, as much as I'd like to take credit for watching Lestrade's two best sniffer dogs lead into the yard in custody, I can not take the credit. However-"

"You considered it a possibility?"

"Yes, that I did."

"And you didn't think to give them a warning." Sherlock shrugged starting for the entrance.

"John who's to say they would have listened to me."

"You ass you're enjoying this?" Sherlock didn't reply, not meeting John's piqued expression. He wouldn't deny that it did give him some degree of bored amusement to see the two least favorite people in distress. Still he pushed that all down and waited for a text. He needed to focus, to keep his mind on the puzzle at hand.

His thoughts drifted back to a time when he'd first come through these doors, escorted by an irritated Detective, Lestrade's hair was peppered white, at the time, more dark than light.

 _"How about you come in clean up and explain to me how the hell you figured that out?" S_ herlock may have been flying high on cocaine but still he remembered the disappointment in the man's face. _"I've warned you Sherlock, I wont have you stumbling around high as all hell. We had a deal, and now you've broken it."_

 _"Pisss offt."_ Had been Sherlock's slurred reply and Lestrade only tightened his grip on the swaying younger man's arm.

_"Have it your way. I've got a holding cell for you, you're smart enough to not be carrying the drugs on you, but I still can get you for a drunk and disorderly."_

_'I'mmnot drunk."_ The detective shot the dark haired kid an unconvinced look his eyebrow raised.

_"Well I'm saving you the embarrassment of a drugs charge. Listen mate you might not believe it now but later you'll thank me."_

_"Why'd yoo car? I solved it faster than you lot, idiots."_

The detective only sighed heavily, _"I wont have any of my subordinates self destruct without trying to help. And you might not be a subordinate but you're valuable assets to the Yard, and I wont have a consultant of mine O.D. due to some miscalculation or superiority complex."_

_"I'll be out by morning."_

_"Yeah well gives me enough time to find a damn halfway house that will take you in and let you detox, even if I have to lock you in the bathroom myself._ It's _either you do this for me or I'll not have you work any cases, I'll have the other Detectives, and DI's all know to arrest you on sight. Then were will you boredom lead you?"_

The younger Sherlock grumbled but the older Sherlock the one of now, wore a tight grin marveling at how determined and very stubborn Greg Lestrade had been. The detective also knew when to bend, and when to stand his ground, occasionally murmuring "God help me."

"Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." Came the familiar voice, forcing Sherlock out of these threatening waters of memory. Sherlock nodded as a bruised PC Clarke escorted them inside. "I received your text Mr. Holmes, and came straight away."

"Yes. How is your partner?" Sherlock attempted to sound concerned, but failed due to the impatient look on his face.

"I'm no help sitting in a hospital waiting room. Besides I don't think I'm the only one who thinks this all smells funny. Please this way." He lead them through a side entrance, no one stopped them, busy with their own menial tasks having no idea of what was happening around them. Idiots. Sherlock sneered, just as quickly forced a bored expression over his face.

"We'll take the stairs that way we avoid any suspicion"

"What about the security camera's." John quarried, looking around at the empty corridor.

"Oh, it's Nancy working IT tonight, the camera's will be down on the stair well, the hall leading to the Homicide Investigations department. And when we reach the top of the stairs the hall will be empty." Sherlock seemed surprised by the young officer.

"When I told the guys that DI Lestrade was missing, and of course that incident at the Detective Inspectors house, a few of the guys were more than relieved to have Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson on the case even unofficially. So Nancy, who's got a bit of a crush on that dolt Henry, was more than willing to help. Two of the SC's brought in treats from the bakery down the street so some of the night shifters on that floor are going to be in the break area. For a few minutes at least that should be enough time."

"Well done." John thought he was hearing things, or maybe he hit his head, because that compliment came from the consulting detective himself. Sherlock looked the young PC from head to toe, and John could just hear him firing off deductions in his head.

"There, the corridor is clear, it's only a sharp left and then it's the DI's office." Clarke didn't take offense to the intense glare of the thin consulting detectives near icy gray eyes, instead he went first to the corridor, checking his mobile for the next text from IT's Nancy. "Alright the cameras are down. Its just-"

"We know the way." Sherlock moved quietly into the corridor then quickly around the corner. John shrugged looking back at the young man.

"Thanks we'll take it from here."

"Right then. Good luck."

_**~0~** _

"Gregie Gregie…tsk tsk tsk" came the over friendly voice. "Why do you make this so hard? Who did you give the pictures to? Hmm, we checked your desk, I have a man going through your home as we speak. Make this easier Just tell me what I want to know. Then this will all be over, and my friend there will end this all, so quickly and you'll be a hero, killed in the line of duty or some rubbish. Actually, your two subordinates Anderson and Donovan will be labeled dirty cops and hit with charges of conspiracy to kill an officer." This brought Greg's head up, his left eye swollen shut, blood dried just above his lip where his nose had finally stopped bleeding, the action of lifting his head sent a drumming pain down his neck to his stinging shoulders, he glared at his interrogator with one good eye.

"See _**D**_ etective _**I**_ nspector, no worries " the man emphasizing the D and I. Greg could hear the anger just below the surface, or was it panic. "we aren't going to get our hands dirty and eliminating your two subordinates. No, we are framing them for your murder. Looks like they got mixed up in some bribes and you were going to blow the whistle so the Sergeant texted your mobile to get you in the right place at the wrong time. Now her little boyfriend, well if department gossip was correct, he doctored evidence for the Sergeant. What a shame, such a scandal."

"Who's pulling your strings?" Greg managed to get this out, his throat dry and head pounding. How long had he been here? Days, hours he didn't care, but he would do anything for a cigarette.

 _"That would be cheating DI, besides we're in this together."_ Greg looked up seeing the familiar dark coat, then the smug face of a thin detective. "Great, I've finally gone crazy."

_" Yes, we'll statistics show that when a body is in great distress or strain the individual under duress recedes into the mind as way of escape. Fascinating that yours would conjure me up."_

"Go away." Greg murmured but instead the consulting detective kneeled down, keeping at eye level, _"You understand that I'm clever enough to piece your clues together. Could be on my way as we speak. Do stay alive long enough for me to find you."_

Despite the situation, the beaten detective had to chuckle, his ribs cried out in protest, but the imaginary Sherlock could have been the real thing, at least Greg got the smug tone of voice, as if it was such an inconvenience for even the imaginary Sherlock to show up and reassure the man of what he obviously should have already guessed. _"Now don't get sentimental on me Lestrade, I'm not very fond of nostalgia. Why can't you think of anything else, like a happier moment in childhood."_ Imaginary Sherlock frowned and nodded his hands behind his back he stood to pace in front of Lestrade's metal chair, his boots silent against the dirty cement floor. _"Right, you had a shit childhood, well never mind that."_

"What how did you know that?" Greg wasn't sure he was saying this out loud or in his head he didn't care anymore.

_"Because I'm in your head, and there is some rather interesting things in here-"_

"Dammit I'm not an experiment you stay out of my head you ass."

"Find them! You were supposed to make it look like an accident! They were supposed to be taken care of at the Park! Someone messed up and put the wrong PC's-No, I'm not going down for this. Someone will take care of the idiot at the hospital, where is Patterson and Clarke? I want them illuminated. No, I couldn't just kill them leaving work! That would have drawn up a few eyebrows two evidence room rookies murdered in a robbery? No, that's why I had them moved. Now where the hell are they? Good, so they are separated shouldn't be to hard should it. At this point I don't care if it looks suspicious we can pin it on Anderson or Donovan, evidence can always be lost. Check his office again!"

 _"Panic, interesting. Sounds like he is only the second in command, a goon just hired muscle. His boss my guess isn't going to be too happy when he finds out you haven't given the location of those photographs."_ Imaginary Sherlock placed his hands under his chin in a praying fashion, his eyes closed.

"Well you idiots, follow them! If that supposed genius is in on the case then perhaps he will find the file before we do. At that point kill him and his little friend."

_"He's a bit over confident. Like I wouldn't know that we were being followed. And as if I wouldn't have contingency plan. Really to be underestimated by you is one thing but this fool? He does realize he looks impractical in that horribly cliché beige trench coat that black cheap suit obviously a designer knock off. It just makes him look pail, not intimidating. I cant believe you were friends with such a dolt."_

"Well Lestrade change of plans. Looks like you have been granted a reprieve. Temporarily."

"Oh joy, might as well kill me now. Because when I get out of this chair-"

" You understand no one is coming for you right? Carvali has half a dozen higher ups on his payroll not to mention the Detectives and PC's. No one is coming for you LESTRADE! We can keep this up all night. You will talk because I'm through asking." He removed his coat, and jacket, rolling up the white sleeves, removing a knife from his belt, "My father was a butcher when I was growing up I was raised around knives and how to cut and bleed a pig. Amazingly enough, people bleed the same way, they even squeal louder."

"You killed those two young officers. They worked under you! How could you do that? " Lestrade said through clenched teeth.

"Well yeah, I know. But I was compensated for my conscience and I find it beats what the government would pay a simple little DI like myself. Besides who cares, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now I want to know about this Sherlock Holmes and his little lap dog Watson. Why would they be snooping around? Perhaps I underestimated your relationship with the asinine Private detective."

"He's every bit of a genius and if he's onto this case then you're safer to turn yourself in. "

"No, I'll have someone take them out, of course they're a team. So divide and conquer seems to be the theme of the day."

 _"Greg, now is the time to pass out, stop being a stubborn bastard. You heard the man, I'm on the case. We've faced smarter men than this obnoxious child."_ Greg fought the darkness creeping in slowly form the edges of his sight.

"Dammit stay with me-I'm not done."


	6. THE KEY, THE CAR AND THE RIVER

Sherlock stepped into Lestrade's office, he'd done so on numerous occasions, he'd broken in countless times as well. But always with the expectation of

the DI finding him, scolding him and throwing him out. This was the game between the two, and Sherlock frowned acknowledging such a truth. How

many times had he sat at the desk, neatly stacked papers just waiting to be shuffled about, and it was always fun to change Lestrade's password and

watch him try and guess only to get it wrong, setting alarms off and locking him out of the system. A very perturbed IT kid would come in and sort it out,

giving the DI a new password telling him to only use one he can remember so this doesn't happen again.

Wait, neat stacks of papers-Sherlock was at Lestrade's desk now, he'd sat there feet up just three days ago stopping in personally hopping for a murder case or something. But something was wrong now, someone had already been here, searching for something they obviously hadn't found.

Pictures, photographs, Sherlock was looking for them, what could they be of. He went to sit in the DI's empty chair, he had to think like Lestrade. What kind of man was he? A good man, like John, truthful, hated to bend rules, his work was his life. That's why his wife left. She needed affection else where. But with a gym teacher? Stop, getting out of focus, he was an honest man, Sherlock could hear his gritty laugh in his head.

 _"I know you're hungry for a case but no one has been murdered, we'll people have, but the murderers have been confessing. Must be my interrogation skills."_ Sherlock had thrown him an impatient and doubtful look, Lestrade of course just chuckled. _"I'll call you. Now get out of my chair and god help me if you hacked my computer-last time you put a picture of a dammed police box and it took me weeks to get it out of my desk, why a blue police box? No don't answer that. It took three pimply faced condescending IT guys to get it out from in there."_

"In, in in why would he say in-my desk!" Sherlock nearly clapped his hands, that was it! He had corrected the DI, once saying it was technically _on the desk top not in_ -but Greg Lestrade wasn't actually a wiz with computers, that man refused to get a touch screen claiming that his old flip phone worked just fine. Sherlock switched the computer on, and of course didn't take a genius to figure out the password.

"Sherlock look at this." John was standing in front of the wall just to the right of the door. Sherlock had almost forgotten that John was searching the office as well.

"Not now John-" Sherlock paused his impatient command when he caught where John was pointing. Lestrade was a man of sentiment; he surrounded himself with pictures, even the one of his wife still remained on the desk. Sherlock always managed to kick it over accidentally of course, when he put his feet up. So it was strange a picture was missing from a spot on the wall, he could see that it was clearly gone a perfect square made by the dust imprints and the frame sitting on the wall so long, that piece of paint under it was less faded. Apparently the wall had been white and not gray at one time, interesting idea for an experiment on paint-focus focus.

"What picture was there?" John wondered out loud trying to remember, he closed his eyes, racking his brain.

"It was the one from his academy days, a class picture-the one with three men in cadet uniforms, and Lestrade was one of the three. Where is it?" Sherlock knew this could be part of the puzzle. Lestrade wouldn't discard something of sentimental value. John went to the wastebasket pulling it out. The frame and picture had been broken, and tossed into the garbage.

Sherlock couldn't think about that right now, all so trivial he needed to find what was on the desktop. Nothing out of the usual, nothing, dammit, something had to be there. Sherlock pinched his nose, the picture in the trash, waste basket, bin-Sherlock shook his head how obvious.

"John! You are indeed a conductor of light!" He didn't catch Johns irritated sigh.

He clicked on the icon for recycle bin. Only an idiot would keep it full, didn't Lestrade know he was supposed to manually empty it? Sherlock scanned the most recent items. Emails, the newest one was from a detective Carlton Bentley, and Sherlock could see in his mind the first three letters **CAR** lton Bently, all emails had an electronic signature and an email address and also what department it belonged to, very convenient.

" _Lestrade, I understand I am just the new_ guy _but I assure you I did look into the cases. There are no discrepancies. Besides who would just confess to a murder they didn't do. I assume that the matter is closed. Working with that nut job is starting to make you paranoid.-Srgt. Carlton Bentley Organized Crime Division."_

Lestrade caught something, a discrepancy and whom ever this idiot Bentley was, he obviously didn't consider it worth his time. Who was he, why would Lestrade be questioning solved cases when the murderers had already confessed? It wasn't making sense, unless he saw a pattern. Sherlock scanned the other emails, another from a DI Jeff Rivers Organized Crime Division. Oh Lestrade you are indeed smarter than the whole of them! Sherlock picked up the clues like breadcrumbs.

_"Greg, old friend how about some drinks later. Hope Rita wont mind, tell her I wont keep you out too late."-DI Jeff Rivers Organized Crime Division_

"Sherlock maybe you should hurry up-" John was starting to get nervous; they'd been there 15 minutes at most. Sherlock ignored him scanning the emails nothing more who was this Jeff, obviously no one close, he still thought Lestrade was married, but close enough to comfortably call him Greg.

Sherlock searched for a reply email, where would Greg go, what cases was he looking into? He needed more data.

"Oh, Detective Dodson, there you are. " both Sherlock and John froze hearing Clarke's voice raise a bit louder in greeting.

"Clarke what the hell are you doing on this floor?" came the stern reply. John and Sherlock moved to the door, he took a chance glancing out just enough for his right eye to take in the scene then pulled himself in, Sherlock could see Clarke speaking with an older man wearing a grey coat.

"Sorry sir?"

"I mean aren't you supposed to be at the hospital with your partner, thought you'd have the rest of the night off? Tell me Clarke, weren't you two supposed to be stationed at the park? Dreadful business those two young PC's." John swore under his breath catching the tone of false sentiment.

"Yes, we we're in the middle of a traffic accident still, and the boss called said to clear that up and not to worry he'd have someone else fill the spot."

"Damn unlucky. What are you doing on this floor?"

" Unlucky?."

"Yes, messy. And then for it to be twice in one night. Of course you come away unscathed once more. I'd say you've got nine lives."

"Sir, Henry was hit pretty hard on the head. He was almost shot point blank-" John heard the mounting anger in the young PC his easy going tone dropping down. " He'd of shot me hadn't I managed to disarm him"

"Yes, well your military training came in handy. Hope you're headed home to rest. Or are you going to check on your flatmate?"

"Dispatch informed me that he'd be released after answering some questions. I'll probably go pick him up. Thank you for your concern."

"You still haven't answered my question why are you on this floor?" John and Sherlock listened hanging on the man's words, John hopped the sound of his heart racing couldn't be heard from where he stood.

"I was looking for you sir."

"Me?"

"Yes, well it was such a long night and I'd heard you were coming in to help search for DI Lestrade."

"Yes, he was an old friend of mine. Good man." His dismissive tone was anything but concerned.

"So I thought to invite you down to the break room. Some of the Sc's brought in some refreshments. At least grab a cup of coffee." Sherlock could hear the hesitation in the older mans voice. "Why don't I do just that. I just have to grab something from my office"

"Oh, but isn't your office that way sir." Sherlock had to grin again, how was this young man a PC, he had a brain well somewhat of a brain, he still hadn't pieced together what was going on.

"Yes,-I just am a little disoriented. Guess it's all this chaos. With Anderson and Donovan being questioned, shame two of our own being dirty. And Howard and Smith. " John couldn't help roll his eyes.

"We'll I'll meet you in the break room sir" Carke sounded confused he had questioned Sherlock could hear it in his tone but he wasn't going to waste more time asking.

"Sure thing PC, sure thing. And you be careful out there. Never know when your times up."

"Yes sir, indeed sir." He stood watching then signaled when the area was clear, the three started back to the stairs.

"Find anything?"

"More than you know. " Sherlock frowned. He took his phone out and sent a quick text.

"Whats that?" Clarke asked pointing at the broken frame in Johns hand, he'd forgotten he even had it. Clarke frowned "Funny, seeing that old bastard DI Rivers this young.

"What?" Sherlock took the picture, "Which one."

"That one" He pointed at the man, Sherlock looked then why would it be in the trash, if it held sentimental value at one time. What would change that?

"Who's this man?"

"Oh, that's Superintendent Rogers, he was at DI Lestrade's house. I heard him and one of the Chief Inspectors berating DI Dimmock. That's when he told me to call you sir."

"Interesting that the Superintendent would visit a crime scene."

"He did say Lestrade was a friend of his." Clarke offered.

"I need to find the last case the Lestrade was working on. I need to talk to Donovan."

"No way you'll get close to her, she's being questioned. You'd have to be an officer-" Sherlock and John turned to Clarke. The young officer sighed heavily "What do you want me to ask?"


	7. CONVERSATIONS IN GRAY

Greg tried to move, to roll over to sit up anything but his body cried out in pain. So he decided to stay put, it was dark, wait no his eyes were closed, he slowly opened his good eye. Still in the warehouse, but locked in a boiler room, how unoriginal. He forced himself to sit up, holding in the pain it caused, his vision blurred, he could feel himself going clammy.

_"Lestrade, sit still. You're alive. In the most cliché' of places. A boiler room in an abandoned warehouse. Well at least they left the light on. All so predictable. Why are you getting up anyway? Just sit, lean against the damn pipes they've got you chained to."_

"You do know you're not real right?" Lestrade bit out, the pain thundering in his ears rolling through him like a hot tidal wave of hammers hitting at his shoulders and abdomen.

 _"You didn't even know you were chained to a pipe. I say we are even. Now,STOP moving around. You'll only make it worse."_ Again with the know it all tone, the tall thin detective pulled his coat around him and moved to crouch in front of the DI, who did just as he was told, leaning against the dusty pipes his right wrist was cuffed helplessly to.

"Why couldn't I have conjured up a pretty girl or I'd take a John Watson. He's always a blast."

 _"Lestrade, who knows how the mind works? But here I am, besides you don't know any pretty girls. And John is_ **_my_ ** _friend."_

"I know Molly and she's a pretty girl. She's actually quite-"

_"Really Molly? She's a little out of your league don't you think. For one she's intelligent-"_

"I'm not too bad myself. Besides I've been meaning to ask her out for coffee. She just seems a little distracted when I'm about to. I think she could like me."

 _"Oh, great conversations involving sentiment just my area."_ The imaginary Sherlock said in his sarcastic voice standing up now , his coat twirling behind him as he turned away.

"What's taking you so long any way? We'll if you are looking?"

_"Of course I'm looking you idiot. I've told you before I've faked my death once to protect those I consider friends. You were one of them. Even if you don't believe it."_

"You know when you came back I wasn't surprised. Not at all. I just wondered what took so long."

" _You wouldn't understand_." The imaginary Sherlock kept his back turned to the bruised Lestrade, Lestrade could see the familiar gesture, in fact he after Sherlock's _"death"_ he would catch himself placing his own hands behind his back in a familiar manner.

"I know. I know. I'm an idiot."

" _Smarter than most."_ The imaginary Sherlock sighed, shaking his head. _"Lestrade, I know you remember this conversation, from the mere fact that I 'm repeating it, and I'm not very real. He was going to kill you, as in had a sniper pointing a red laser light on the back of your head. YOUR HEAD! They didn't care that you were in New Scotland Yard, he was going to kill you. Kill you, John, Mrs. Hudson. All of you. And I might as well be dead , without my heart-Moriarty was right Lestrade. He would burn the heart out of me, John being the ever present conscience, Mrs. Hudson and her sentimental ways. And you, you Greg with your hope your stubborn determination that I could be more and you would take whatever abuse I hurled your way to show me I could be. I can't believe you're making me say this again."_ Imaginary Sherlock turned now, moving to crouch again in front of the half conscious detective.

" _S'good to hear again."_ DI Lestrade tried to smile despite his split upper lip.

" _Fine. I'll say it then. You are my friend Greg Lestrade. You are my friend and I would die before I allowed anyone to take that away. "_

Greg remembered the day Sherlock returned, the way the sun shown brightly over head despite the dreary London weather they'd been having. On break the DI was sitting on the park bench cappuccino in hand, his mind drifting. Thinking of the past three years, how when ever he had to go to Barts his stomach turned these days.

He'd felt guilty for dragging Sherlock into his cases, well he was as bad as a dealer taunting the Consulting Detective with the complex cases where the DI couldn't seem to figure it out. And then Sherlock would swoop in and point out three or four things they missed, putting everyone down in his ridiculous speech. But the case would be solved that's all that mattered to Greg, that the murderer would pay for his crimes. Black and white had been Greg Lestrade's vision of the law, but Sherlock managed to drawl him into the gray, more than once. And slow DI Lestrade would always be one step behind that impossible man and his ever patient Doctor.

So when he felt the presence of another sitting next to him, Greg didn't look over, so lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts of running after the two trying to get a clear statement, and in English, not the big headed posh language Sherlock liked to use. Before giving up and saying _"Oh let me write it down for you!"_ Lestrade found himself once more chuckling over a remembered conversation, where at the time he had been frustrated, but now god he missed it.

"Remembering a Joke?" Came the baritone voice, Lestrade pulled away from the memory.

"No-just a friend. A frustrating old friend."

"Oh, sounds like a comedian."

"No, no far from it. He just had this way to twist me around and make me dizzy. A whirlwind, that one. A good man. "

"Oh, he sounds like an idiot." Lestrade snapped out of his musings remembering then he was carrying on a conversation with a complete stranger.

"I'm sorry do I-" his thoughts fell away unable to form any coherent sounds but somehow he'd stood up a frown on his face. His coffee forgotten it toppled out of his hands onto the dark cement.

"Sherlock?"

"DI-" the other man stood, wearing a familiar Belstaff coat, his hair a little more wilder, a spot of gray starting just around the ears. Lestrade could see that the 3years hadn't been easy. His usually vibrant friend seemed somewhat defeated, vulnerable. As if he was worried to say anything more, afraid that Greg would push him away, or punch him in the face like someone had already. The gray eyes, so haunting still pierced through him, searching his posture and expression for some sign, something to deduce to gather more data on how to proceed.

"What took you so long?" Greg Lestrade Detective Inspector for NSY pulled the younger man into a tight hug. Feeling the fine bones under the coat, Sherlock had lost weight, but he was alive. "You idiot! What took you so long!" He pulled away, realizing that the hug had been stiffly accepted.

Now in the boiler room Lestrade frowned closing his eyes remembering the sun on that day, the hesitant but uninterrupted explanation, a dumbed down account of the his friends dark adventures. Now Greg caught the familiar glare, the icy gray eyes narrowed and he could hear the imaginary Sherlock start to pace before falling gratefully into the darkness once more.


	8. PHOTOGRAPHS

Sally couldn't believe the questions they were throwing around, accusations really. She'd last talked to Lestrade around five, before he headed to that psychopath's house. Why weren't they investigating him!? He could have easily orchestrated it all making her and Anderson look guilty.

No, she pushed the thought away, recalling the concern on the arrogant man's face. This wasn't just her job on the line, the two smug assholes had tossed the copies of Lestrade's last text messages, the life of her boss was on the line here. And she was stuck here instead of out there tracking him down. Cleary her phone showed she'd sent him a text but there was no way she could have, she was with Anderson the whole time. Something she couldn't admit to, and god help him if he admitted to it. They'd lose their jobs when this cleared innocent or not. She remembered getting halfway home after spending time in the back seat of-a blush crept up her face but she'd gone back to check her desk and found it sitting untouched. Although she hadn't remembered leaving it on her desk. Someone was setting her up.

The door opened those two idiots asking the questions went on break, leaving her with the evidence, a technique she knew well, this was supposed to show her she was optionless. That if she admits guilt they'd go easy on her. Fucking twats. She didn't get to be Srgt. for no reason; she knew how to play this game.

Why weren't they questioning the freak, she'd told the two inspectors about the phone call. Leaving out the cryptic part, because something was coming up, someone on the inside was responsible. Dammit Lestrade where are you? She glanced at the photographs of the two dead PC's. She could be a hard hearted bitch when need be, but those two she knew them. Sure she'd bullied Smith but he made it easy and Howard had a way of making anyone laugh even on the worst of days. What had she said to them before she left the scene, left the two of them to collect the equipment?

"Try not to break anything Smith or it comes out of your salary."

"Have a good day Srgt!" Howard had called out waving, she'd thrown him a dark glare. "Piss off!" She heard the two men no doubt snickering about her. Did Howard have any children a wife? Smith didn't seem like the married kind, but Howard-she tried to remember if she'd heard him discussing family life. There they were in a crime scene photo, slumped over left for dead in a dark tunnel. She'd fated them to that, choosing them to stay and clean up. She could have had two more stay behind maybe strength in numbers?

The door opened, and she quickly stiffened her back, straightening her shoulders, any tears of frustration she'd pushed down Sally Donovan _did_ not cry, she would not.

"Sergeant?" it was just another PC, what the hell did he want, she saw he was carrying a cup of steaming coffee. "Thought you could use this." He offered, she continued to glare at him, he leaned over. "I only have a few minutes before those two come back. I need to know what the last two cases DI Lestrade was working on."

"What the-why?" she narrowed her eyes and looked at the hot cup of coffee how long since she'd last eaten?

"Please its important. Did the DI say anything about photographs or pictures?" Sally realized what this was and laughed, damn him.

"So he roped you in did he. Ok, fine. You tell him to get me out of this. They are saying I have something to do with this. The bullets from the crime scene they pulled out of those two PC's match another crime three weeks go. They said the gun is conveniently missing from evidence." Clarke frowned looking at the photographs he suddenly felt sick, and he realized the DI's words, they sounded like taunts now.

"Listen idiot! The last two cases we worked were solved; they had originally been thought to be part of the Cavollari hits ordered last year except the murderers had no gang ties. Sadly the poor sods offed themselves in prison before trial. But case closed with a signed confession. They are blaming Anderson for switching or tampering with evidence stealing from the evidence lockers. They asked if Lestrade had brought any photographs from one of the crime scenes to me. I haven't seen them. He checked them out two weeks ago, but if you ask me he's been acting strange all month. I didn't ask I thought it had something to do with the soon to be ex wife. " she gave the case names and the door opened.

"Well ma'am I hope you enjoy your coffee." Clarke changed his demenor and stature, looking uninterested.

"Clarke? What the hell are you doing in here?" the young man smiled easily,

"Just bringing the Sarg something hot to drink."

"Get the hell out of here rookie. We are in the middle of an interrogation."

"Yes sir." He hurried down the hall his phone now in his pocket.

"What did she say!? Word for word." Sherlock demanded as soon as the dark haired PC exited the building.

"Here I recorded it on my phone. I sent you the audio file. I have to go!"

"Where?" John called after him.

"To the hospital! I have to find Henry-"

"He's not there." Sherlock replied coolly.

"What?" the younger man looked ghostly white.

"I had him moved. For his protection. Now will you please tell me why someone would want you dead?"

"Wait. You know for sure he's safe?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes! Now tell me!"

"I don't know. We aren't anyone; we haven't worked any murder cases or scene clean up. We both just came up from the basement, working evidence. That's it. I don't even know DI Lestrade except I met him once a couple weeks ago, he came to me looking for two pieces of evidence."

"did you give it to him? What was it?"

"I've already told you, they were missing. Disappeared. I'd already spoken to the boss about it, but now the DI wanted to know why. He then pulled the files on both those murders and left. Henry and I got our promotion a couple days later. That's it. "

Sherlock hailed a cab he needed to think, the three got in and John remembered something the DI Dodson had said.

"You were in the military?"

"Yes sir, I was in the regular army. Nothing exciting I did my time and came home, could have reenlisted but honestly wasn't my thing. Henry was with me, said we should try applying for a job as cops."

"Wait that man-the one who tried to kill you. He knew you'd been in the army." Sherlock turned to John, one again John and his conducting of light.

"He would know because someone who is in the know informed him. Most likely your DI Dodson."

"Shit how high up does this go?" Clarke sat back watching the streets fly by.

Once at Baker Street Sherlock listened to Sally's quick statement, John had made tea and fallen asleep in his chair, that PC as well, once he received a call from his friend that he'd been escorted home by two very large security looking officers. Saying he is to stay put in the flat until further notice. He was going mad with boredom. Clarke had laughed and decided to see this to the end, he'd fill Henry in later, he'd be sad he missed out on the action. Still, Clarke thought back to the pictures of those two PC's, someone needed to be brought in for that, no one deserves to die like that, discarded, he'd only meant to rest his eyes but somehow fell into a light sleep.

Sherlock suddenly sprang to his feet, around 3 am, "THAT'S IT!" John and Clarke both sprang to their feet ready for a fight, Sherlock hardly acknowledged them, except Clarke caught sight of the gun that Doctor Watson tucked into the back of his waist band. He had a question then for the quiet seemingly ordinary Doctor, looking man up and down, but Sherlock was already grabbing his coat and heading for the door. "OH LESTRADE YOU ARE FAR MORE CLEVER THAN I GIVE YOU CREDIT FOR!"

"Sherlock? Where?"

"John hurry, we have to go to the morgue."

"God-is he?" Clarke pailed trying to keep from falling down the stairs behind the shorter blond man.

"Not yet, no. What we need will be there. Oh how stupid can I be, he told us and I thought he was being sentimental! How could I not see it!"

"What Sherlock what!?" John jumped into the cab and Sherlock pulled his phone out. "MOLLY!" he cried out exasperated as if John should understand as well. Clarke was intelligent enough not to speak, and John tried to rack his own sleep starved brain.

"The message!" He shook his own head, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes!" Sherlock snapped.

Molly looked up from the body on the table, "Oh, hello." She greeted nervously, Clarke looked green, John noted as he glanced at the figures covered by sheets just behind the small women in the lab coat.

"Here you go." She handed Sherlock the manila envelope. "DI Lestrade came in with these the other day, sort of left them by accident. I meant to call him but it just escaped my mind. He wanted to ask me something about the forensics report, I'd been the one to do the autopsy so I answered best of my ability. Both cases the report was correct. He showed me the photographs and I told him they were both consistent with the injuries."

"Did he say anything else Molly think anything any little thing?" she took a step back, blushing under Sherlock's sudden grip on her shoulders.

"I-I-I don't think so." She stammered.

"You're sure?" Sherlock's gray eyes locked with hers and she nodded turning a bright shade of red. When he stepped away he took the envelope spreading the pictures out, what-what was he asking. Come on, Greg what did you need to know?"

"Oh, wait he did say something right before he got a phone call. I thought it was odd that's why I remember it. I 'm not one to listen in on private phone calls but-" Sherlock took a step towards her and John intercepted, smiling easily.

"Molly Detective Inspector Lestrade has been abducted."

"What?" she now lost all color.

"By some fairly bad men, they already killed before and we think it has to do with what Lestrade was looking over. So please tell us anything you remember." She nodded.

"He was standing with the folder in his hands, his phone rang, I heard him say something like "Sir, you may think its fruitless but I've already informed you that something was off-yes. Yes I just want to tie up loose ends. I have my suspicions-well the tire tracks for one." That's all I remember Sherlock's eyes fell on the photos both of them.

He could see it, tire tracks, tire tracks, Lestrade had seen it, by the bodies, matching tread but no one thought to investigate due to the fact they had their confession. Sherlock knew the tread he'd seen it before in the tunnel even in the dim light the distinctive marks.

He made a quick text to Mycroft, " _Information on abandoned properties owned by CAVOLLARI mafia within 20miles of Old Square Park."_

Sherlock ignored Molly's questions over Lestrade's safety, she'd grown quite fond of him, but whenever she wanted to ask him to coffee nerves got the best of her and she would duck out on some imagined call, only slap herself later for being such a coward. But now, now it may be too late, and this distressed her greatly, thinking of such a good man murdered, executed cast off like trash.

"No worries Molly, we'll bring him back. Or at the very least you will have the chance to autopsy the ones responsible." Sherlock hollered as he pushed past the metal doors of the morgue.


	9. OF MICE AND MEN

Sherlock looked over the list of potential warehouses all abandoned, dammit too many, it would take too long to go one at a time. They needed to narrow it down, Sherlock looked over his shoulder before getting into the cab. Of course, obvious how predictable,

"Sir, you do know we are being followed?"

"Yes, Clarke I am aware." Sherlock glanced over the list again, he could narrow it down to five. That's why I'm going to drop you off at our flat." His smile John knew all to well, he'd been on the losing end of that forced grin.

"Sherlock!" John objected shaking his head " No, I'll do it."

"What?" Clarke asked.

"He's just as capable as you John. Besides, I hardly think with your bad shoulder and the way the weather has been that you'll be in top shape when they shove you into a trunk. I trust your marksmanship as oppose to a some untrained pencil pushing rookie. Besides" Sherlock looked back at the uniformed Clarke, "He wants to help."

"Oh, god." John just shook his head.

"Yeah, I'll do it, what do you want me to do?"

"Oh, just get out here wait for my text. Just stand there on the street in front of the flat."

"That's all? I can do that."

"Sherlock-" John began to say something but the thin detective practically shoved the young man out of the cab.

Clarke waited looking at his phone, it vibrated he opened the text, wondering how this would help them find the DI and bring the cop killers to justice.

" _Don't Panic.-SH"_ Clarke read it over twice, mouthing the words odd, they made no sense, and when the heavy object a police club most likely, came down hard across his shoulders knocking him unconscious all thoughts left him and complete darkness overcame him.

Clarke awoke realizing he was in absolute darkness, he tried to sit up but his hands where cuffed behind him and he could hear the muffled sound of an engine, he kicked his restrained legs out, hitting his knees on something hard. Yeah, it's a trunk. Son of a- he remembered the Consulting Detectives text. Panic started to creep in his palms sweating, tight places, small spaces. He tried to swallow his fear, had to keep from drowning.

Why he didn't ask enough questions sometimes was beyond him, no wonder the good Doctor seemed angry and had objected. Oh well, Clarke had been in tougher spots, well not life and death, once in boot camp he'd been locked in the women's toilet in nothing but his underwear. Try explaining that one, he barely managed to get out without being caught, Henry, yeah Henry had distracted the females and came back to break his friend out. Clarke realized he never asked what Henry had done for a distraction; he'd have to ask.

"Clarke, you need to ask more questions mate or just keep your head down. You're such a know it all. Lighten up." But after that he and Henry had been best friends the thought that some dirty cops were gunning for his friend was enough to keep him from hyperventilating seeing how his mouth had been taped. He took easy breathes, and waited, the words don't panic repeated in his mind.

Sherlock had texted DI Dimmock and Mycroft, they ditched the cab and had one of Mycroft's goons take over tracking the black car with the PC in the trunk.

"They'll lead us right to him."

"Sherlock, that was low. You could have at least warned him."

"He had to look unsuspecting."

"You're a bastard sometimes. How do you even know they'll take us to Lestrade? They could just take the kid out and shoot him in some back alley."

"They won't." A statement.

"What you don't know." John kept an eye on the car in front of them.

"Because they need to ask him some questions first."

"Oh great they are going to beat him and then shoot him-"

"John he's a soldier, I'm sure he's seen tighter spots." John shook his head, no he knew a battle hardened soldier when he saw one, that kid most likely never left base, probably a communications officer, he had the open friendly demeanor of one. And his friend Henry most likely the same, they didn't look worn down and haunted like so many young men John had patched up.

"You know that's not true."

" Not good?" he turned to the angry doctor,

"Yeah, Sherlock just a bit!"

"In my defense he did want to help. Can't change that now. Forward John, forward. Lets not look back. "

"Wake up, cop!" one of the thugs pulled Lestrade to his feet, his hand uncuffed he was lead into the "interrogation room" as he called it.

"Greg. Turns out we don't need you anymore. We've got us some fresh meat. Soldier boy will give us answers to our questions. I've told the boys they can cut you up and leave you in any seedy alley of their choice."

"John?" Lestrade tried to squint his vision blurry, he couldn't see the figure in the chair.

"Oh, no not the loyal dog. This is a different one, but just as useful he's been tagging along with our dear consulting detective. Poor kid, they just dropped you off unattended sent you off to bed like a good little boy?-"

"Fuck off!" came the unfamiliar voice.

"Oh, no, someone's mother didn't teach them manners, doesn't know what's good for him." DI Rivers shook his head, and he started for the uniformed PC in the chair, but the sound of sudden laughter unmistakable laughter turning into strangled coughs but still Greg Lestrade was laughing.

"What the hell? What's so dammed funny?" he growled, one of the thugs tossed the weak DI at Rivers feet. Lestrade looked over at the young kid, he'd expected it to be John, but looks like the sociopath found another mouse to lead him to the end of the maze.

"I bet he grinned at you m'right?" Lestrade's voice was raspy but Clarke understood, grimacing at the older man's face, he hardly recognized that he was the same man from two weeks earlier.

"Yeah, he grinned."

"I'm surprised John didn't stop-"

"Oh, he tried I volunteered. I had no idea of course but here I am. Why would you assume I was John?" Lestrade shook his head lying on his back, he had to laugh, despite the pain in his ribs.

"Cause he's usually the soldier in the chair playing bait." Came the wheezing voice.

"What are you getting at Lestrade? Take him out back go on, get rid of him." The thugs smiled and grabbed the chuckling man by his bruised arm.

Clarke caught the gleam of a very sharp two sided hunting knife, well, thought sadly, there was the DI's missing evidence.

"I get to make the first cut-" the two thugs argued and Lestrade recalled the last murder he'd solved, similar marks, similar knife. Well he knew Sherlock wasn't far behind that young PC probably didn't know what the hell he was agreeing too.

 _"Hang on Greg."_ The imaginary Sherlock urged. _"These idiots have no idea what door they've opened."_

Lestrade laughed again, it hurt and he coughed, his lugs felt as if something sharp pushed into them. "I waited three years I guess I can hang on a few more minutes."

 _"Don't be so melodramatic Lestrade."_ Imaginary Sherlock huffed.

"So this is how it will be PC. I want some answers, I want them quick and I'm in no mood-"

"Piss off!" Clarke tried to pull out of his chair. "Tell me Rivers those men, did you shoot them yourself? Or instead of getting your hands dirty you watched from the car? " When Clarke received no reply he continued on trying to buy some time "Oh, I'm right. Because if it had been you, you would have known it wasn't us. That Smith and Howard were not US!" he growled. "You bastard!"

"Wrong place wrong time kid nothing personal."

"They had families, Howard had kids-a wife!" he almost pushed out of his chair, but one thug shoved him down holding him still.

"Like I said wrong place wrong time. They didn't suffer much. If it brings you any peace, Howard was shot in the back through the heart, quick painless, Smith was a fool. He should have radioed it in, he didn't have a weapon of any kind still he ran toward the gun fire, and when he was on his knees he was going to beg for his life, or talk Vinny here out of it. Never got a chance did he Vinny." The thug holding Clarke in his chair chuckled shaking his head.

"You're going to die-"

"Oh. They wont catch me, we have enough higher ups under the belt, the Cavollari pay well. Lestrade should have fallen into line, bastard was offered quite a bit of money and he threw it practically in my face. So where were we, oh yeah tell me what those two know?" he put the gun Clarke's forehead, chuckling at the sudden stillness in the younger man.

"PUT IT DOWN!" came the familiar voice, a commanding voice, one that made Clarke want to jump up and stand at attention from the force of it. He looked over and realized of course, there he was. Doctor Watson couldn't be ordinary. No. What ordinary man got to run with the mad genius? No of course not. Doctor Watson had more to him. Clarke would have to ask later.

"Oh, how sweet another soldier. I've heard stories Doctor. But you are but one and I've got the gun to his head. What will you do? I'll shoot and then Vinny will shoot."

"It would be difficult to shoot if Vinny was himself shot, somewhere unpleasant I think. Not much of a brain so a bullet wouldn't hurt there, maybe in the upper thigh, or just at the hip. Tell me John where exactly is the the pelvic bone-" Clarke had to laugh now, he understood DI Lestrade's words. How many times had the good Doctor been bait?

Rivers kept a tight grip on his gun, looking from Sherlock to John. "Oh sod this! Where's Lestrade!" Sherlock growled.

"They took him out back." Clarke replied coolly, the end of the 9mm pressing harder into his skull.

"Once again Clarke very good." Sherlock said in such a conversational tone, that Clarke and Rivers turned to look at him. "John kill him I'm going to get Lestrade."

Clarke heard the sound of a gun shot, two and he thought with his eyes clasped shut that dieing didn't hurt, not at all really.

"Dammit Sherlock!"

"No time! I have to get Lestrade he's waited long enough!"

"Clarke?" John crouched down taking a pair of handcuff keys and letting his hands go.

"Thanks." He stood up and then sat down, looking at a moaning Vinny John took the used cuffs and put them around the big mans wrists, not that he would move from that nasty gunshot wound in his hip. As for Rivers he was now being handcuffed, the Doctor tutting over the shoulder wound.

"That's going to leave a mark. I would know. Here take his gun, watch these two."

"Sir, yes sir." Clarke looked at the two men, he sent a hard kick to DI Rivers, one landing on his injured shoulder. "Those men had families."


	10. HEROS and FRIENDS

Lestrade laid on the cold damp ground, he should feel scared or some what concerned, instead he felt ready to drift off, the ground wasn't to bad, so softer than he'd originally thought..

In fact it was like being on a raft in the middle of the ocean the waves of darkness lapping at the edges of his vision.

Oh, and he had company, that couldn't be right, one of the henchmen or hired muscle of DI River's was lying next to him holding a hand to his nose and Lestrade tried to roll away from him not likening the proximity but someone pulled the thug away.

Was there shouting?

Someone was talking to him? And he blinked trying to focus watching the downed henchmen, a hard kick to the side of the head sent the thug motionless. The other one was a couple feet away, some more talking, all a distant mumbling, like putting your ear to the end of a seashell trying to hear the ocean. He'd done that as a kid, once. He wasn't near the ocean was he? Was that the sun in the sky?

Hands, kind gentle hands, a doctor's hands. And he realizes now that imaginary Sherlock is kneeling next to him, and he's talking to an imaginary John.

"Greg?" Oh, this is definitely the end if the imaginary Sherlock was sounding worried. "Stay still Lestrade or you'll make it worse. Stop moving."

John heard the gun shots, Sherlock had hit one of the mafia thugs in the leg but he charged the surprised detective. John could see he hadn't expected this reaction. He took out the mafia thug standing over Lestrade with a knife, Lestrade wasn't moving, God he wasn't moving. Then Sherlock brought a hard palm to his opponents nose then a hard chop to the adams apple he keeled over gasping for air. Sherlock growled pulling him away from Lestrade. John took out the zip ties he always carried on him he subdued both men, immediate danger pacified. That was the soldier in him, now the Doctor in him sprang into action.

"Greg?" kneeling now at the still form he knew to be his friend. Sherlock noted the DI was no longer wearing his completely useless coat, to thin to protect against rain. His shirt had been ripped at the collar, and the knees of his slacks filthy, blood everywhere, on his face, his shirt. Sherlock couldn't think of anything to say, but he heard a soft moan and relief flooded him.

"John! He's alive!" John nodded and started to take inventory of the damage. Sherlock removed his own coat, as John put his jacket under the DI's head, Sherlock covered him.

"He's cold, and his blood pressure is low, we have to keep him warm he's in shock. Keep his head supported."

Sherlock examined his friends face, yes Greg Lestrade was his friend, he'd become apart of him like an arm or a leg, you can't function without it. The injured Detective Inspector grinned, he tried to move.

"Greg, don't' move. You're going to be fine. An ambulance is on the way." Lestrade showed no sign he heard John, but Sherlock took the man's hand and squeezed

"Stay still Lestrade or you'll make it worse. Stop moving." This did the trick he laid back staring skyward,  the dawn had come up hours ago, and he looked up at the warm sky happily.

" You know you're not real." He coughed wincing.

"Of course I'm real Greg." Sherlock caught John's eye, the paramedics finally arriving .

"Nice of you to show up. What took you so long?" Lestrade whispered

"Sentiment Greg, sentiment." Sherlock admitted as they lifted the DI onto the cot covering him with an awful orange blanket.

**THE HOSPITAL 2 DAYS LATER**

Molly blushed as Sherlock and John entered the hospital room, DI Lestrade was sitting up, his right wrist still bandaged, the swelling in his face finally going down some that when he smiled he didn't look like a ripe tomato ready to pop.

"Well, Detective Inspector-er Greg" she stammered. "I do have a morgue to get back to. I'll pop in later before I leave to say goodbye." She squeezed his left hand, nodding to Sherlock and John shyly.

"I'll be here Molly, and looking forward to that cup of coffee, you promised." She threw him a million dollar smile and left the three friends.

"Well look whose up and coherent." John looked over the DI with the eye of a master craftsmen inspecting someone else's work, it was a Doctor's look, and Lestrade held back a laugh, how was it that he easily forgot John was a Doctor. A damn good one at that, well at least that's what his second or was it third doctor had said when Lestrade had first managed to stay awake longer than five minutes.

"Well look whose not spouting orders at poor Emergency Room Physicians." John smiled brightly.

"Just wanted to scare them enough that they kept on your treatment. By the looks of your chart they have."

"They come in enough. Every half and hour to check if I'm in pain. Really I don't need such a close eye. I'm not to bad off, I wouldn't mind going home and getting back to work."

John shook his head checking the IV bag, "Are you in any pain Greg?"

"Oh piss off John, I've been asked that same question in that same tone at least 30times today. Next you'll ask if I'm seeing double, have headaches then you'll ask my damn name and if I know where I am." He rolled his eyes "You know what you can get me-some nicotine patches. That old witch of a nurse keeps saying she'll have to clear it with the Doctor. Do me a favor mate-" John smiled.

"I'll go check with your Doctor, I did have a few questions-"

"Please John don't be to hard. Poor kid is going to need to be hospitalized with anxiety disorder. And I just learned this ones name. Dont make me learn another ones." After John left Sherlock moved from his position by the window to Greg's bed side, proudly tossing down the paper in Lestrade's lap.

"Whats this?" he picked it up, _**"Scandal at Scotland Yard."**_ The cover had a very smug looking Dimmock, and Srgt. Donovan escorting an unhappy commissioner and DI Dodson. Lestrade chuckled seeing that pompous ass Dodson looking defeated. He read; _**hero Detective Inspector uncovers more than just bribes and perjury. Scotland yard compromised by mafia.**_ Right under that was a picture of himself. "I'm no hero he couldn't read the sensationalized account according to some young reporter of how he put his life on the line- There was a bit of an awkward silence, so Lestrade went first pushing the paper from him.

"Thanks for being here when I first woke up."

"You remember that?"

"Hard to forget, besides it was worth remembering hearing John fire the first two Doctor assigned to me? Really he's gotten such a temper since you've returned. And he's worse than a mother bear protecting her cubs."

"Try telling him you don't want a multivitamin even if it's in the form of cherry flavored gummy bear." Sherlock shivered remembering their argument from a day ago. "John has no real power here, but they seem to jump to attention when he barks. Besides that man whatever his name was, certainly wasn't fit to practice medicine, John caught at least four mistakes. That idiot had no idea you were allergic to penicillin. By the way, how does John know that?" Lestrade laughed and winced again, he coughed harder now, damn a cigarette would be nice.

"No, no it wouldn't." Sherlock sighed reading his friend's mind. Lestrade frowned leaning back against the hospital cot, he'd managed to maneuver it so he could sit up. He wondered if this had been a good idea, and again if he was imagining Sherlock again. "That would be cheating. We are in this together." Sherlock grinned taking a nicotine patch from his pocket.

"Wait-"

"Don't worry I know your doctor. I'm sure he'll understand." Again another awkward silence, as he put it on Lestrade's undamaged arm.

"How is that kid, what was his name?"

"Clarke." Sherlock grinned briefly; Lestrade had thought him incapable, especially since he'd returned from the dead. Sherlock had seemed more haunted and distant, but Lestrade also noticed just how much more protective this man had become, of John, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and maybe even him.

"Yes that would be him. Poor kid had no idea what he was getting into mixing up with you two."

"He's unscathed. He's a smart one. You should have him on your team, he's slightly smarter than the idiots you have well at least he's less annoying. He kind of reminds me of John. I think John has taken to him, while we were giving Dimmock our reports, by the way how that fool Dimmock became a DI is beyond me. He looked out of his league and uncomfortable, I had to practically write the report for him. All that aside, John and Clarke were talking army stuff. Funny how some people underestimate John and even this Clarke, and you." Sherlock cleared his throat, dropping his voice on the last words of that sentence.

"Oh, I bet." Lestrade pretended not to hear this compliment " Seeing how you got him to play bait. Oh, I'm just a man, I don't think if I hadn't worked with you all these years I'd have caught the discrepancies. Thanks again Sherlock, really, for a minute there, I did believe I wasn't going to see the light of day."

"No. Thank you Lestrade that message was the best yet. You really gave me a case, it did the trick breaking me out of my boredom. And I have a few new ideas for an experiment." Lestrade shook his head; Sherlock caught how he laid a bruised arm over his aching ribs.

"I thought when you said in your message, you would be seeing Molly soon that you had thought you were lost. That I wouldn't find you." Lestrade stiffened hearing a quiet sadness an unusual tone for the impartial man.

"No, of course not. A man has nothing to fear when he's friends with the only consulting detective in the world. Besides I knew it would be a matter of time before you'd show up. And I had my own mind to keep me company till you did." Sherlock could see the exhaustion settle into Lestrade's still bruised face.

"Good. You would have to be an idiot to believe otherwise. Now, maybe you should rest before your doctor comes in. And has me murdered for keeping you from your sleep." Before Sherlock could go Lestrade's hand grabbed hold of his forearm, Sherlock flinched and with the strength of a healthier man, he was pulled into an uncomfortable hug. After what seemed like a long bit of time, Lestrade released the thin man, who coughed uncomfortable, looking around making sure no one witnessed a show of affection.

"Go on then, go find Dimmock and harass him, I bet he's enjoying the extra work load and no doubt Donovan and Anderson are adding to that. Be polite."

"No promises. For future reference Greg, I'd appreciate it if you would not get yourself kidnapped and nearly executed. If you have a question, find me. Going off on your own is far to dangerous. We are in this together you know. All of us. " Lestrade could only grin and nod, satisfied with this answer the tall thin consulting detective, took his leave the tail of his dark coat trailing after him like a cape.

**~C'est finis~**


End file.
